


a touch of sable in his eyes

by witty_kitty



Series: they ain’t never gonna catch us [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Baby's first smut, Biting, Bottom Wilbur Soot, Consensual Sex, Foreplay, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Overstimulation, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Schlatt POV, mentions of sbi and other residents, not main tagging this so if you find this and ur pissed, slight objectification of wilbur from schlatt, that's on you man, top jschlatt, vague mentions of godly wilbut and schlatt, vaguely unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:36:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27649645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witty_kitty/pseuds/witty_kitty
Summary: Wilbur can do everything he wants to try and deny it — play house and play war and pretend to be human — but he’ll always come face to face with the truth: they were made for each other, and he’s never needed anyone else.-An AU where Wilbur and Schlatt faked their deaths and ran away together after blowing up L’manberg.
Relationships: Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot
Series: they ain’t never gonna catch us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2062644
Comments: 27
Kudos: 709





	a touch of sable in his eyes

**Author's Note:**

> edited nov. 21, 2020 because of all the ERRORS christ
> 
> okay so obvs don't ship the irl people, this is taking place in minecraft
> 
> uhh general idea/notes:  
> \- respawns are a thing, they just take a while/painful, generally frowned upon b/c you can never be sure whether or not you'll respawn (only admins know if they're in a hardcode world or not, but no one wants to take the risk)  
> \- schlatt and wilbur used to be gods (wilbur forgets)  
> \- sbi does not like schlatt. they’ve only heard about him from Wilbur following his deaths so.  
> \- schlatt is kind of manipulative in the 'prequel' (it's in my head), he sort of helps drive wilbur insane because he wants him for himself. he's not manipulative in this one, just super possessive  
> \- this is consensual.

Wilbur is still asleep when the sun rises.

He’s beautiful like this. The dawn softens his features, leaving a glow that makes it seem like he’d been sent down from the heavens itself to grace the lands with his presence, and in a way, he supposes, they had.

Wilbur mumbles something, shifting slightly in his sleep and burying his face further into the elbow of his large yellow sweater. The awful ratty trench coat and Schlatt’s own sweaty suit had long since been discarded a ways back, replaced with clothes they had hidden in the forest weeks before the second war, along with some other supplies.

It rides up slightly as he moves, revealing a mess of bandages wound around his torso and bruises disappearing under the slipping waistband of his pants. He lightly traces circles on the exposed areas of Wilbur’s hip, being gentle as to not agitate any of them. There's still blood under his nails from when he frantically patched Wilbur up - faking their deaths _had_ been apart of the plan, sure, but the stabbing wasn’t, and he'll never forget the panic that shot through him upon seeing Wilbur bleeding out onto the grass, having dragged himself out of the button room as soon as Philza had left.

His lover lets out another quiet moan and shifts again, curling up further into the blankets they laid out under them last night. As much as Schlatt would love to sit there and just continue watching him breathe, they do have to keep moving. They’re still far too close to Manberg ( _L'manberg now_ , he supposes) and Dream’s territory for his liking, and while they may be presumed dead, that’s not going to last if someone wanders and finds them out in the wilderness. He _is_ a little bit curious though about what they think happened to their bodies.

(He's more curious if Wilbur’s family even cares. They don’t seem to act like it, in Schlatt's opinion, not to Wilbur nor to each other. For fucks sake, Phil barely protested when his own son told him to kill him, though he might be a little bit biased seeing as, y’know, his boyfriend’s the one who got stabbed. Still, it all worked out in his favor in the end, so he can’t complain too much.)

Shaking his head, he starts packing, letting the other sleep in. He normally would’ve made Wil pack his own shit, but he _did_ get the harder part of the plan. It’s the least Schlatt can do.

By the time he finishes up, Wilbur is beginning to wake up. With a quiet groan, he sits up, wincing slightly. “Morning, sleeping beauty," Schlatt greets him. His curls are wild and messy, completely covering his face. It's pretty cute. 

“Morning,” he replies, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Looking around, he notes the remains of the campfire and the full bags. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“Figured you’d be too whiny if I didn’t let you sleep in, pretty boy,” Schlatt says, holding out his hand to haul Wilbur up. Instead of pulling his lover up, however, he’s pulled down, barely managing to catch himself in time, as to not crush the other under his body. “Wha— _Wilbur!_ ” The taller man is caged in by his forearms, and he is suddenly _very_ aware of the red flush of Wilbur's face and the short distance between them.

“Relax, we’ll be _fine_ ,” his love laughs, looking up at him from under messy curls. “Besides, it’s been a while.”

“So you want to fuck in a forest? Do you know how unsanitary that is, Soot?” 

“Why not? Isn’t it scandalous, Schlatt?” there’s a shit-eating grin on Wilbur’s irritatingly beautiful face. Little fucker knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. “I didn’t know you were such aA _A— mph!_ ” Wilbur shoves a fist in his mouth, muffling the moan that threatened to come out as Schlatt shoves his knee in-between the brunette’s legs, grinding it into the bulge.

Without giving him time to recover, Schlatt sucks at Wilbur’s neck, marring the smooth expanse of skin with bites and hickeys, shiny from spit. Wil’s quiet gasps and moans are like music to his ears, and while he loves Wilbur’s usual compositions, nothing can compare to the noises he makes when they fuck. “Why so quiet, Wilbur?” he asks, punctuating the question with another grind. The fabric between them makes the friction almost painful, but it’s worth seeing the man’s face flush a beautiful shade of red. “Did something happen?”

“Fuck... you...” the brunette huffs out, glaring at him with hazy eyes. “You know... exactly... what you’re... do- _ing!_ ” Wilbur lets out a yelp as Schlatt shoves a warm hand up his sweater, gliding across his torso to squeeze at his nipple, though the sound is quickly swallowed by Schlatt’s lips pressing into his. Wilbur moans into the kiss, parting his lips just enough to allow his tongue in.

Wilbur’s mouth is cool and wet, practically divine in the way it tastes. He can probably get off just from the sounds Wilbur makes as he bites and sucks on his bottom lip _alone_. The taller male let’s out another moan, desperately humping into Schlatt’s knee. When they part, he has to take a moment just so he doesn’t cream himself looking at Wilbur’s shiny, spit-slick and swollen lips, curls mussed up and a splotchy red blush that went under the collar of his sweater. “Come on, come on, sit up for me—“

Letting out breathy little pants, he’s completely pliant as Schlatt sits them up and tugs him into his lap. There are far too many clothes between them, and Wilbur’s still trying to cover his mouth. 

“Let me hear you, sweetheart,” he nibbles at Wilbur’s ear, letting his hips roll up a little bit. “Don’t be shy.”

“ _Schlatt_ ,” the brunette gasps out, fumbling for his zipper. Normally, he’d love to tease Wil a little bit longer, deny him just a smidge more, but right now, he’s just as pent-up as the other is. Wilbur had been right, earlier — it _had_ been a while. Too long, in Schlatt’s opinion.

It’d been both torturous and wonderful in a way, a sort of dangerous thrill whenever he and Will managed to get some alone time together, though those moments were few and far in-between. He’ll be the first to admit that he’d been worried, _jealous_ almost, of Wil’s family, and it had only gotten worse as Dream and some others started to crawl out of the woodwork to help Pogtopia. It meant that they would be spending more time with Wilbur, it meant that any of them could be convincing him that they were _better_ — just thinking about it left his blood boiling. The Nihachu girl had been one of the worse offenders, though the amount of time the damn green boy had spent with his lover alone trumped anything the girl had done.

He had been so desperate to mark Wilbur up then, consequences be damned, so they wouldn’t try anything. And while they might not be there anymore, Schlatt isn't going to just give up the chance to mark the other up for the world to see. “Leave your boxers on, Wilbur,” he says finally, startling the other slightly. “I wanna take care of you this time. Lay back down and spread your legs, alright? That’s an order from your president.”

“Isn’t it former president now?” he quips but follows through, laying back and balancing on his forearms to look up at Schlatt. The small, confident smirk quickly drops into a moan as Schlatt trails kisses along his thighs, biting every so often to leave blooms of purple and red marks all over the white porcelain skin. “ _Fuck,_ ” Wilbur keens, hypersensitive, and it’s so clear that he hasn’t even so much as touched himself in the past few months, but Schlatt decides to fuck with him anyway.

“Hey, Wilbur,” he says, breath hot along the inside of his thighs, hand trailing up his underwear and tracing the junction of where his hips meet his legs. “Have you fucked anyone else?”

“O-Of- _mmm_ \- course not!” Wilbur huffs out in-between moans, clearly indignant at the accusation. “Who would I have ev- _en_ —!” He cuts himself off with another moan as Schlatt mouths the fabric of his bulge, biting down lightly.

“Oh, you and I both know there were plenty of people, Wilbur,” he shudders as Schlatt’s hot breath ghosts over his boxers. “You could’ve had anyone! All you had to do was to bat your pretty little lashes at them, let some pretty little words fall out of your mouth, and they’d be completely at your beck—“ his fingers slide out from under the boxers to pull them down by the waistband. “—and call.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t, I swear—“

“Of course you didn’t, Wilbur. You wanna know why?” he tugs the underwear off, letting Wil’s erection spring out, red and shiny with precum. It slaps against his stomach, and the brunette instinctively shoves his sweater down to cover it. There’s something even more hotter about that, like a slit in a skirt, an artful sort of partial nudity that makes the mind blank and the imagination run wild. Schlatt lets out a shuddering breath, composing himself before continuing on. “Because I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. I’m the only one who will _ever_ get to see you like this, do you understand me, Wilbur?”

“Yes, yes, of course, there’s never going to be anyone else, it’ll be you, it’ll always be you,” he babbles, one hand reaching up to tug at Schlatt’s own sweater. “Please, please, take off your clothes, for the love of god—“

“‘Course, baby doll,” he chuckles, pulling it off in one swift motion. He pops the zipper of his own pants to relieve some tension, pulling them off and kicking them to the side, but not before fishing out the lube. (What? He likes to be prepared.) “Y’know where we should’ve done this, Wil? In that button room of yours,” he pours some out into one hand, using it to tug Wilbur’s erection out from under his sweater. Wilbur lets out another punched-out moan as he closes his hand and begins to stroke. “We should’ve fucked right there, in front of the doorway. Your dad would've seen us,”

Wilbur lets out an involuntary moan, staring at him wide-eyed, face splotchy red. “Do you like the idea of your precious father watching his own son getting fucked into the wall by his political enemy? By his _murderer?_ ” he flinches slightly at the mention of his deaths, though Schlatt can’t blame him. None of them had been very peaceful, after all. “I wonder how daddy would’ve felt about that.”

Schlatt doesn’t like Wilbur’s family all that much. Sure, Technoblade is a fine hitman, but he’s too much of a loose canon, someone who wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if he thought he might do something to his siblings (or if he got too close to Wilbur, courtesy of Phil). TommyInnit is a brat, loud and annoying and far too nosy, making it way too hard to see his lover, and Philza—

Philza tries — well, _tried_ now, he thinks with a hint of satisfaction — to keep them apart. Worried about Wilbur’s _safety_ or some shit. Like Schlatt would ever hurt him. (He wouldn’t have had to hurt Wil anyway if the other would just _listen_ , but whatever.) Thank god none of them had realized he and Wilbur had been meeting again, otherwise things would’ve definitely gone differently. (Things could have gone worse.)  


“That’s not— don’t— don’t bring Phil into this,” Wilbur gasps out, biting his swollen bottom lip as another moan threatens to come out. “Just _don’t_.”

“Alright, alright, pretty boy,” Schlatt hums. He didn’t particularly want to think about Wilbur’s shitty family either, wants to focus on the beautiful, flushed and sweaty man beneath him. “What do you want, then?”

“What do you mean ‘what do you want’, you know exactly what I want, you absolute _ass_ —“

“C’mon, _Wilby_ ,” he lazily thrusts his fist again, and a loud moan tears it way out of Wil’s mouth. “Tell me what you want.”

“You, you, you, please, I want you to fuck me, Schlatt, _please_ ,” Schlatt shuts him up with another kiss, drinking in the quiet little moans that escape Wilbur’s mouth, patting around him for the lube he’d tossed out earlier.

“Spread your legs,” he orders, pouring a generous dollop of lube out onto his fingers andpushes one in. He swallows the gasp that escapes Wilbur, stilling his hand to let the other get used to it. “You’re tight as hell, baby girl.” The brunette lets out a shaky moan, throwing an arm over his face. “Hey, none of that. I wanna see you.”

Wil shakes his head, broken moans falling out of his mouth. Schlatt swears he sees a tear or two, and he hasn’t even started moving yet. “Wilbur,” he says, punctuating it with a sharp thrust of his hand. Wil’s body jumps and tenses, clamping down on his finger like a vice. “Move your arm off your face — not onto your dick — or I’ll stop.”

“ _Don’t!”_ he pants out, shifting his arm slightly to look at Schlatt with wet eyes. Oh, he’s _definitely_ crying. “Please... I can’t, it’s just... a lot...” Yeah, he’s going to tug one out to that memory later.

He starts gently thrusting in, watching Wilbur squirm as his slick fingers probe around, searching for that one spot that gets him every time. “Think you can take two?” Schlatt pours some more lube onto his second finger — is it overkill? Maybe, but he likes the way it drips out of his shiny red hole. Wilbur lets out another moan as he pushes in and scissors him, stretching the tight hole out, curls mussed up and stuck to his flushed face from sweat, a picture of debauchery.

This. This is what he faked his death for. This is what he gave up control of a (frankly shitty) country for.

And it’s all his. It’s always going to be his.

Wilbur has no one else but Schlatt now. No one’s going to come look for him, not with all the bridges he’s burned.

He’ll still keep Wilbur away from the world though, keep him tucked away in a place where no one can ever see him. And no one will ever suspect a thing, because after all Wilbur and Schlatt were ‘enemies’.

He never thought that things would work out so _wonderfully_ like this.

His Wilbur lets out another moan, spreading his legs further, quiet little pleads as he ruts into the air for _more_ , _please_ , _Schlatt, another finger, just fuck me already, please—_

Jesus, he’s fucking _art_.

“You’ll never leave me again, right Wilbur?” he asks, stopping his thrusts, making the brunette let out a whine at the loss.

“No, no, of course not,” he breathes out, almost drunken in the way he reaches out and brushes his fingers along Schlatt’s stubble. “I learned my lesson, you’re the only one that cares, you’re perfect, you’re—“ he shudders, cutting himself off with a loud shuddering moan as Schlatt presses a third slicked-up finger in.

He leans over, licking and lapping at Wilbur’s bite-ridden neck, thrusting in at a steady pace. “ _Schlatt!_ ” he wails, head thrown back into the blanket. “Please, please, more!” And if _that_ doesn’t make his dick twitch, he’s not sure what will.

“Alright, alright,” it’s as he’s pushing a fourth, wet finger in that Wilbur suddenly jerks, somehow getting even _tighter_ , practically cutting off the blood flow to his fingers. He can’t help the smug smirk tugging at the edges of his lips, even as Wilbur groans and lightly bats at him to keep moving. “Looks like we found it!” For a moment, he entertains the idea of watching Wilbur squirm for a little while longer, but at this point, his own hard-on is begging for attention, and he can’t ignore it any longer.

Wilbur lets out a pretty whine as Schlatt removes his fingers, biting at his knuckles. He takes a moment to take the taller in — red-faced and panting, sweater rucked up revealing an expanse of bandages and pale bite-ridden skin, hole wet and shiny, lube dribbling out. Wilbur’s cock is an angry red, precum leaking steadily down the tip and making a pool on his stomach. He’s completely overwhelmed and absolutely fucking _beautiful_.

Schlatt can’t kick off his boxers fast enough.

With the last of the lube, he slicks up his dick, his own touch making him wince. Wil’s not the only one who hasn’t gotten any action in a while, after all. “You ready?” he asks, caging the taller man in with his forearms. Though he’s shorter, his broad stature practically swallows the other. Two long pale legs wrap around him in response, and he carefully pushes into wet, tight heat.

It’s _heavenly_.

It takes all of his willpower to not thrust in right there, because as much as he would love to ruin Wilbur, to stretch him out and fuck him so hard that he won’t be able to sit for weeks, he doesn’t want to push the other too hard, not when he's injured. “You good, baby doll?” he grits out, staring down at the man beneath him, who’s taking deep shuddering breaths to try and relax.

After agonizingly long seconds, Wilbur finally nods. “Go ‘head,” he says hoarsely.

He thrusts into the tight heat with ease, barely any resistance due to the amount of prep he’d put in earlier. Wilbur makes the prettiest noises, gripping Schlatt’s shoulders tight enough to bruise, even though he’s barely started moving. Wil’s leaking dick gets caught on his sweater with every rock, staining the yellow fabric with precum. _Jesus_.

“Go faster,” the brunette urges, squeezing his legs tighter around his hips, and Schlatt’s obliges. He’s never been good at denying temptation, after all. Despite the layers, despite the body heat, Wilbur’s body is cool to touch, and Schlatt knows that it’s the opposite for Wilbur. They’ve always been opposites — Schlatt and his underworld demons, Wilbur and his Sky Gods — and that’s how it’s meant to be. There doesn’t need to be anyone else mucking up the equation. Normal people will come and go and disappear, but he and Wilbur will always come back to each other in the end.

Wilbur can do everything he wants to try and deny it — play house and play war and pretend to be human — but he’ll always come face to face with the truth: they were made for each other, and he’s never needed anyone else.

Schlatt doesn’t realize his slow pace has evolved into a rough and sharp clip until a set of nails rake down his back, and he sees wet tears slipping down Wilbur’s face as he clings and moans. He probably has bruises now, Schlatt realizes by the rough slapping sound of skin on skin, and that’s one hell of a fucking turn on. As he looks down on Wilbur, his eyes focus on an unmarked expanse of skin at the junction where his neck meets his shoulder. Almost instinctively, the ram hybrid clamps his teeth and _bites_ , relishing in both the moan and taste of iron filling his mouth. “ _Schlatt,_ ” pretty little Wilbur begs, “I’m gonna... I need to... _please_...!”

“I’m not going to stop if you do,” he warns, but the brunette either doesn’t hear it or doesn’t care, because one sleeved hand reaches down to messily start pumping his erection. He’s not going to last long, Schlatt can tell, the other already a moaning mess beneath him from a few strokes of his dick. If he didn’t make such a pretty picture, he probably would’ve stopped him by now.

Schlatt feels a tug on his hair, and then he’s being dragged down onto Wilbur’s lips, tongue instinctively swiping out in the wet heat of his mouth. He’ll never get tired of the taste, of the feeling of a tongue on his, or the soft nibble Wil leaves as they part a trail of saliva between them. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he says, drunk on the feeling and so open because there’s no more stupid politics or people or anything else, just _Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur_. “Do you know how you look? One of these days, Wil, we’ll have to fuck— no, make love in front of a mirror, just so you can see how you look, fallin’ apart under me like this, you’re so good for me, Wilbur, too good, I’m so fucking scared all the time that you’ll leave, I’m— I—“ he swallows, hips slowing down to a grind. “I love you.”

Wilbur stares at him, shaking like a leaf, a few tears slipping down. “I love you too. I’m... I won’t leave again,” he says quietly, and for the first time in a long time, Schlatt actually _believes_ him. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” he breathes, and lets his forehead rest against Wilbur’s. “You close?” He nods, and Schlatt picks up the speed again, a familiar knot building in his gut. When Wilbur cums, he can’t help but slow down and take him all in— mouth dropping open with a quiet gasp as semen spurts between them. It takes all of his willpower not to come right there, Wilbur somehow getting impossibly tighter, hole spasming around his dick. It’s when the brunette starts to weakly rock his hips back, though, his soft cock twitching uselessly on his stomach from overstimulation that Schlatt comes back. ”You want me to continue?”

Wilbur gives him a weak nod, clearly not trusting himself to speak, and he continues, chasing his orgasm as quickly as possibly. It’s not hard — Wil’s hole is still tight, weakly fluttering from time to time. He bites down on Wilbur’s shoulder as he comes, filling him up so much so that it drips down onto the blankets, not that he cares. They can wash them. Wilbur lets out a low moan as he pulls out and sits up. The other is dazed and fucked out, still shaking from overstimulation. The little trail of cum and lube leaking out of his red, puffed up, and abused hole completes the picture, and he suddenly has an overwhelming urge to take a picture or sign his name somewhere on Wilbur’s body.

(Maybe he’ll get a collar for Wil. The mental image of Wilbur, in nothing but Schlatt's sweater and a collar, patiently waiting for him while spread out on a bed is going to haunt his dreams for years to come, and he welcomes it. )

The brunette is still twitching and panting hard, showing no signs of coming back to the land of the living anytime soon. His hole winks, and before he can stop himself, he’s shoving three fingers past the rim. (It’s fine— he’ll just say he was trying to clean him up.) “Jeez, I really did a number on you,” he mutters, fingers lazily scooping the cum and lube out. Wilbur gasps and tenses beneath him, senses even more overwhelmed than before, weakly kicking out.

“ _Stop_ — you horny-ass motherfucker—“

“I’m just helping you out,” he says, not bothering to keep his own shit-eating grin off his face, even as Wilbur lands a couple kicks in. “Alright, alright, get off the blanket.” He digs around the pack for some water and a cloth, wetting it enough and handing it off to Wilbur.

“Not gonna—“ he clears his throat with a wince, “Not gonna clean me up? What bad manners, Schlatt.” Wilbur tsks, a little bit more aware.

“I’m cleaning the blanket.”

“You’re _flipping_ it over.”

“Do you want to fucking cuddle or not, Soot?” Wilbur rolls his eyes, tossing the dirtied cloth to the side and rolling onto the clean side of the blanket. Schlatt tosses him his underwear, tugging on his own. “Move over, bitch.”

“Yeah, get over here, you possessive fuck,” he laughs, yawning part way through. “Was there even a point in packing up camp?”

“Sue me for doing something nice for you,” Schlatt wraps an arm around the brunette, holding him close and pressing a kiss to his head.

He’ll do it right this time. Wilbur will never want to leave his side again. Schlatt’s got so many plans for their future, far far away from the SMP, but for now, it’s just him and Wilbur, as it should be.

As it always will be.

**Author's Note:**

> i might do a cont or a prequel, but for now just take the brain child lol 
> 
> it'll all be anon tho haha


End file.
